


same time next year

by ohjustpeachy



Series: Tony Stark Bingo Fills [23]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Christmas, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mutual Pining, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28062864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohjustpeachy/pseuds/ohjustpeachy
Summary: “I forgot to ask. When’s your flight home?” Steve asks, draping his arm over Tony’s shoulder and settling in against him.Tony ignores the knot that forms in his chest at the idea of it, leaving Steve again for his own impersonal apartment, his piles of books and projects and the nights without sleep.“Day after tomorrow.”Steve huffs a little sigh, then brings his lips to Tony’s neck. “Well, we’ll have to make the most of it, won’t we?”Or, four (4) Christmases with two (2) idiots who can't admit they're in love.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Tony Stark Bingo Fills [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601260
Comments: 39
Kudos: 234
Collections: Tony Stark Bingo Mark IV





	same time next year

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the song 'tis the damn season by taylor swift
> 
> Title: same time next year  
> Collaborator Name: peachy  
> Card Number: 4017  
> Link:  
> Square Filled: T4/Happy ending  
> Ship/Main Pairing: Stevetony  
> Rating: T  
> Major Tags: Christmas, Modern AU, Tony Stark needs a hug, getting together, angst with a happy ending  
> Summary: four (4) Christmases with two (2) idiots who can't admit they're in love.  
> Word Count: 3314

**_2016_ **

Tony pulls up his collar against the chill of the December night. The TV in his parents’ living room had been on all night, calling for a snowstorm, but it’s more sleet than snow, a messy slush at his feet as he trudges into the bar. He’s only half ready to admit that he’s only there in the hopes of seeing one familiar face among his old high school classmates. Everyone is home for the holidays and, like Tony, already climbing the walls to escape, retreating to their old haunts for a laugh and a drink to push away the stress of it all.

The place is as packed with people and as dimly lit as ever when Tony gets inside, the warm, familiar claustrophobia of it a welcome relief from the cold outside and the stilted conversation at the Stark residence. He makes his way through, stopping to say hi and make small talk with a few people on his way to the bar, but his eyes never stop scanning the crowd.

It’s not long after Tony sits down, managing to snag an empty seat at the bar, that he spots him: Steve Rogers, mere feet away after being states apart for almost a year now. Steve spots Tony at the same moment, their eyes meeting over the crush of people, and just like that, he’s right in front of him, like magic. 

“You’re here,” Steve says, smiling so widely at him that Tony can’t help but smile back just as big, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. 

Tony nods. “Home sweet home,” he says, trying to keep the disdain from his voice. No need to get into all that now, not when Steve looks so happy, lit from the inside out with holiday joy. He’s always loved this time of year; the perfect balance to Tony’s general distaste for the holiday season. They were like that in a lot of ways, come to think of it. 

“How’re things in PhD land?” Steve asks, nudging Tony’s knee with his palm. 

“Busy,” Tony says honestly. “I’m glad for the break. How’s it going with the studio?” 

Steve gives him another smile. “Great, actually. We expanded some of the offerings, which I was nervous about, but all the sessions are already filled for the next quarter,” he tells him. Steve still lives here in Albany, living out his dreams of teaching and art when he used his small inheritance to open his own art studio: Throwing Hands Art Center. It was a punny little call back to the feisty kid he was back in high school, and it made Tony smile fondly any time he thought about it. 

Of course, those moments were almost always followed by a hollow ache in his chest, but still. 

“That’s amazing,” Tony says, meaning it. He’s happy for Steve, even as much as he’s missed him. In high school they were always close, essentially living in each other’s pockets for four years. It wasn’t until senior year that Tony realized that what he was feeling for Steve was way more than just friendship. But by then he was going to MIT, piled high with familial expectation, and Steve was staying here, caring for his mother, and then losing his mother, and starting his business… They’d stayed in touch here and there, but they were adults now, and it wasn’t the same. 

Tony thinks about that summer before MIT more often than he’d care to admit, all trembling, tentative touches, long looks and longer drives going nowhere, music blasting between them. He can still feel Steve’s hand, clammy in his as they drove. 

“So,” Steve says after a beat. “How long are you here for?” He meets Tony’s eye with a knowing look, making something long dormant in Tony flare back to life just like that.

“Until the day after Christmas,” Tony tells him. “I’m staying in the guest house.” If Steve can do meaningful looks, so can Tony. 

“Oh, I guess with Howard, it’s better if…” Steve says, trailing off. And of course Tony wouldn’t have to bring all that up; Steve already knows. 

“Yeah. Better for a lot of reasons, I think. Are you here with anyone?” Tony asks.

“Bucky, Sam, and a few of their friends, but…” 

“Wanna get out of here?” Tony asks, laying his hand over Steve’s, which, he realizes now, hadn’t left his knee.

Steve’s face flushes as he finishes the beer in his other hand, nodding. “Meet me by the door in five minutes?” 

*

Hours later, Tony’s breath still coming in ragged gasps, he pulls Steve toward him, tracing nonsense patterns over his chest. He won’t think about how for the first time since his plane landed days ago, he finally feels like he’s come _home_. 

Instead, he presses his face into the crook of Steve’s neck and murmurs, “I missed this,” and swallows around the lump in his throat that forms when Steve nods and kisses his sweat-slicked hair before answering.

“Yeah, me too.”

*

**_2017_ **

**Tony** : _Howard has a million and one potential employers ogling me at this Christmas party. Give me a reason to leave?_

 **Steve:** _Your lab’s on fire? You ate some bad fish? Cat stuck in a tree?_

 **Tony:** _I hate you_

 **Steve** : _You could never._

 **Steve** : ... _But if this is a booty call, you’ll have to ask nicely :)_

 **Tony:** _I’m asking nicely_

 **Steve** : _The door’s open. You know where the studio is, right?_

 **Tony:** _Be there in ten_

*

“Hi,” Steve says, already smiling when he opens the door. “Come in, you look like you’re freezing.”

“Hi,” Tony replies, breathless with cold. He unwinds the scarf from his neck and lets Steve take his coat and throw it over the back of the couch. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

Steve lives above the studio in a smallish, one-bedroom apartment that Tony immediately loves. It’s so _Steve_ , from the moment he walks through the door that his breath catches a little bit in his throat. 

It’s tastefully decorated and furnished, using the most of the space, accented in deep greens and neutrals and woods. There’s art covering the walls, of course, and Tony knows some of the pottery adorning the end tables was probably made by Steve himself. 

There’s a small, squat Christmas tree in the corner, lit up with multi-colored lights, and Tony pictures it for a minute, Steve picking out the perfect tree, untangling his lights, carefully arranging the ornaments just so. 

It’s _cozy_ here in a way that Tony’s apartment never is, he realizes. 

“I hardly rescued you,” Steve points out. He walks over to a small bar cart next to his kitchen table and gestures to it. “But I can do my best to make it worth you leaving.” 

Tony smiles at this, not letting himself say aloud that seeing Steve is _always_ worth it. Tony knew he’d end up here the moment he boarded the plane and headed for home; had looked forward to it ever since Steve kissed him goodbye last Christmas. 

“Gin and tonic?” Steve offers, then frowns. “Actually, I don’t have tonic. So, gin?”

Tony laughs, nodding. “Please.” 

They sip their drinks and catch up for a while. They don’t talk much throughout the year, which Tony hates, but he isn’t sure he can do anything about it, either, so he doesn’t bring it up. 

Instead, he listens to Steve tell him about the people in his classes, the projects he’s working on himself, the new teachers he’s been able to bring on. His stories unfold with a kind of breathless enthusiasm that Tony loves, has _always_ loved about Steve, the way he dove headfirst into things he cares about. 

Tony tells Steve about his classes, the professors he works with, his thesis. He confides in him about Howard’s expectations and how they seem to weigh him down like quicksand. Because the best thing about Steve, well, _one_ of the best things about Steve, is that he always knows what to say. He also knows when to just listen, when to take Tony’s hand in his, smooth from hours working with clay, and hold it while Tony talks.

It’s close to midnight when they run out of words, and Tony can’t say for sure who moves first, only that one moment they’re sitting in comfortable, comforting silence, and the next, Steve’s mouth is on his, hot and searching and _perfect_. They come together with a year’s worth of desire, Tony nearly chasing Steve down the hall to his bedroom and wasting no time once they get there. 

“You wear too many clothes,” Tony grouses, tugging Steve’s shirt free from his belt and pulling it over his head. He tosses it aside as he presses kisses down the length of Steve’s perfectly sculpted chest. “ _God_. You’re perfect, you know you’re perfect, right?” He’s babbling but for once he doesn’t stop himself. 

Steve’s laugh is low and rumbling and Tony feels it in his chest before Steve’s on him, pressing against him with a soft gasp. “So are _you_.”

*

They fall asleep after, a tangle of limbs and sticky skin. Tony’s eyes are impossibly heavy when he wakes up hours later, disoriented to find that he isn’t in the guesthouse at all, but still here, in Steve’s apartment. 

“Hey,” Steve says, waking up with a yawn. “We fell asleep.”

Tony smiles. “We did.”

“I forgot to ask. When’s your flight home?” Steve asks, draping his arm over Tony’s shoulder and settling in against him. 

Tony ignores the knot that forms in his chest at the idea of it, leaving Steve again for his own impersonal apartment, his piles of books and projects and the nights without sleep. 

“Day after tomorrow.” 

Steve huffs a little sigh, then brings his lips to Tony’s neck. “Well, we’ll have to make the most of it, won’t we?”

*

**_2018_ **

Tony’s flight gets in early, and he decides to surprise Steve at the art studio. He’s waiting outside, braced against the afternoon cold, when he sees Steve come walking out. His hair is immediately tousled by the wind, but he’s buttoned up in a deep green peacoat, looking _exactly_ the way Tony imagined Teacher Steve would look. 

It takes a minute for Steve to spot him, but he smiles when he reaches Tony, wrapping him in a hug. 

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks, and it’s then that Tony sees the slightest hesitation in his eyes, the way he’s suddenly holding himself just so. 

“My flight got in early,” Tony explains with a shrug. “I thought… I don’t know. I wanted to see you. I thought maybe we could… get lunch or something. Drive around and look at the lights.” He says it casually enough, at least he hopes he does, but his heart is so erratic in his chest that Tony feels like Steve will be able to see its staccato beat even through the layers of his t-shirt, sweater, and winter coat. 

“Oh,” Steve says, hand reaching around to the back of his neck. He looks flustered, like he wants to be anywhere but here. “That sounds great, but…”

The drumming in Tony’s chest stops, drops, and immediately speeds up again. He wonders if this is what a heart attack feels like. 

“It’s just… I’m kind of seeing someone, recently.”

_Oh._

“Oh. Right,” Tony nods.

“I mean, it’s recent, and it’s… it’s not serious, at least not yet. But I don’t want to… I don’t know. Mess it up.” Steve looks defeated, like it hurts him to say the words as much as it’s killing Tony to hear them. But then again, why should Tony have expected anything else? Steve’s a great guy. The _perfect_ guy. Kind, _beautiful_ , funny, talented… the list goes on and on. 

“Of course.” Agreeable. Tony can be understanding, even if he can feel the faint hope he’d had for this trip home splintering inside him. 

“Tony,” Steve says, his voice soft and pleading. “I still want to…”

Tony holds up a hand. “Please don’t say be friends.” 

Steve shoots him a look. “Well, I _do_ want to be friends,” he says. 

“We’re hardly friends.” 

Steve looks hurt now, but Tony continues. “If we were _friends_ , I’d know about whoever this person is that you’re seeing, and we wouldn’t be standing here right now.” He can’t help it, the words leave his mouth before he can stop them. 

“That’s not fair,” Steve says, his mouth setting in a firm line. “You can’t expect me to just wait around for the few days a year when you show up here.”

“I don’t _expect_ anything from you.” Tony’s voice is a snarl now, and he hates it.

“Don’t you?” 

“Expectations get you nowhere. Just ask Howard how it’s gone for him with me. You’ll only end up disappointed.” 

“Tony, that’s not fair and you know it.”

“It isn’t, but what is?” Tony sighs, suddenly exhausted. “Have a merry Christmas, Steve,” he says, turning and heading for his car. “See you next year.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tell him to stay, or ask him to wait, but when Tony looks back, he’s still standing there in the cold, a sad look on his face.

*

**_2019_ **

Snow, again. 

The hole in the wall bar, again. 

Familiar faces that look less and less familiar as the years pass. Tony sits himself down at the bar, ready for a beer when of course, there’s Steve.

He approaches Tony slowly, almost tentatively, and Tony feels his heart squeeze despite himself. Steve’s always had that effect on him. It’s been a long year of mostly silence and uncomfortable, short answers when they did text, and Tony’s wondered how this moment would unfold. Wondered if he’d even see Steve this year, for that matter. 

He hates the way they left things. Hates even more that they don’t talk, or do more than hook up once again, crammed into Tony’s parents guesthouse or splayed out in Steve’s apartment. It’s too much and never enough, like so many other things in Tony’s life, really. But it’s different, because this is _Steve_ , and he’s always been so sure there’d be more, someday. 

“Hi, Tony,” Steve says when he reaches him. He’s wearing a flannel with a dark gray t-shirt beneath it, and both look so soft that Tony has to stop himself reaching out and touching it. Touching _Steve_ in that old familiar way they have.

“Hi,” Tony repeats. 

“So,” Steve starts. “How was your flight? I’m surprised it didn’t get delayed with all this…” He gestures vaguely towards the door, the snow, the accumulating ice and slush and spinning tires he’d seen on his way here tonight.

“I got in last night, so I just missed it,” Tony explains. It had been a _long_ day at home with his parents, trying to be helpful to his mother as she prepared for Christmas dinner while staying out of his father’s way was… tedious, to put it mildly. 

“Oh, good,” Steve says. “That’s good. You look…” 

_Tired. Exhausted. Heartbroken_. Tony’s brain supplies plenty of answers, but what comes out of Steve’s mouth is one he was least expecting. 

“Really good.” 

“Oh, um. So do you,” Tony says, because it’s true. It’s always true. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Steve says.

Tony looks at him, trying to keep his eyes blank. “Me too. I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have said all those things last year. I was just… surprised.” 

Steve nods. “I’m sorry too. I could have told you ahead of time and I didn’t. I also… It didn’t work out.” 

A long silence stretches out between them then. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony lies. He isn’t, because he’s selfish and he knows it, even if, at the same time, he does feel for Steve, who deserves to have everything he wants work out for him. 

“You’re not,” Steve says, but it doesn’t feel like a rebuke; he’s smiling a little as he says it. “But thanks. He knew I was...distracted, and for a while I tried to tell myself I wasn’t, but… It wasn’t fair.”

“Sorry,” Tony says again, because he feels like it’s his fault, because he’s had his own short lived relationships, always with Steve in the back of his mind, the endless _what if…_ on a loop in his head until they could feel it, too. 

Steve smiles, as bright and familiar as ever, and Tony can’t believe he goes entire years at a time without it. Without _Steve_ , and the endless warmth of him. 

“Do you want to…” Steve’s eyes flit from Tony’s lips to the door and back, and Tony’s nodding before he can even think about it. 

“Yeah.” 

*

“I hate this part,” Steve says when they’ve caught their breath and collapsed against each other in Steve’s bed. Tony’s wrapped himself around Steve as tightly as he can manage, but he still feels like he can’t get close enough. He tucks his head beneath Steve’s chin and hums, content, when Steve presses a kiss to the top of his head and holds him close.

“What part?” Tony asks. He can’t imagine hating anything just now, as warm and comfortable as they are. 

“The part where we lay here, and I ask when you’re leaving, and you tell me a few days, and I say that’s okay because that’s just how it is, and how it has to be, and I pretend like I don’t want to be a jerk and ask you to stay.” 

Tony’s stomach somersaults. _Steve wants to ask him to stay?_

“I finished my degree,” Tony says. 

Steve’s face shows a flicker of surprise. “Oh, congratulations, that’s amazing, Tony,” he says, and Tony can tell he means it.

“Thanks,” Tony says. He wriggles himself out of Steve’s arms enough to look up at him. “But that means… Nothing’s really keeping me in Cambridge. I could get a job in the city or something…” Tony trails off, not wanting to assume anything. 

A job in the city would mean he’s only a car or train ride away from Steve, an easy visit, while they figured things out. And they would have a lot to figure out. They haven’t spent more than a few days together in years, after all, but still, the idea of it lights up in Tony’s chest like Christmas morning. 

“Yeah?” 

Tony links their hands together. “Yeah. I had an interview last week, actually. This green energy company that I really loved. They said they’d let me know after the holidays, but the woman called me the next day and made me an offer. It’s a great opportunity, Steve.”

“You know, Manhattan’s just a two and a half hour drive from here. Three hours by train,” Steve informs him. 

Tony smiles. “Someone’s done their research.”

“Yeah, well, I had some time on my hands,” Steve says eventually, biting back a guilty smile. “I miss you when you’re not here.” 

“You could have asked me to stay,” Tony tells him.

“You couldn’t have done it, though.”

“Yeah, but still,” Tony says. 

Steve takes a deep breath. “Okay. Will you stay? For the rest of the week? Take the job in the city, but only if it’ll make you happy.”

“You make me happy,” Tony confesses.

*

**_2020_ **

“Happy new year,” Steve murmurs, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist and hugging him tightly. 

“Happy new year,” Tony repeats, bringing their lips together. They’re celebrating the new year at Steve’s place with a few of his friends, so Tony could get to know the people who are important to him, and he's not taking even a moment of it for granted. 

“I’m really glad you stayed,” Steve tells him. 

“Me too,” Tony says. Because for all his running, from this town, from his father, from his own heart, as long as Steve's here, this place will always be home. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me crying about them more on [tumblr ](%E2%80%9DLINK)


End file.
